


Dance Me To the End of Love

by parisian_girl



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 10:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15555264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parisian_girl/pseuds/parisian_girl
Summary: Phryne, Jack, and jazz. Just because I like to think that Jack has more in him than a good waltz.





	Dance Me To the End of Love

**Author's Note:**

> A very short, very random drabble inspired by Madeleine Peyroux's "Dance me to the end of love". It's one of my favourite jazz tracks, and for some reason it always reminds me of these two....so I decided to finally do something about it ;). It's also a bit of an experiment in the first person - not the way I usually write, but that's how it came out. Enjoy!

The rhythm of the music dances through Phryne's body, sending her feet twirling and her hips swaying. Her skin feels hot, glowing. Other bodies are pressed in around her, moving like a kaleidoscope around the cramped little dance floor, and she thinks for a moment that she would love to see them all from above, to watch the colours swirl through the slight haze of smoke and to see the club undulating with the beat of the jazz. But she doesn’t think for very long.

_Those hands._

She can feel her breath coming a little faster, and she doesn’t think it’s the exertion. She is so aware of his hands on her bare skin - the skin that she had deliberately chosen to reveal tonight, with an almost backless dress of shimmering burgundy silk - that it’s making it difficult to do anything but let the music take over and allow him to guide her. He’s an incredibly good dancer, and she supposes that she shouldn’t have been surprised. He had waltzed her, after all. She just hadn’t imagined that he could dance like this. 

He moves them quickly, matching the piano almost note for note with steps back and forth, twists and turns, spinning her away from him and towards him and allowing their bodies to press close for a few tantalising seconds. In those seconds, he allows his hands to dip further down her back and the room recedes, only to be brought back into sharp relief by the screech of the trumpet and him pulling away from her again. Warm goosebumps erupt in his wake. Her skin tingles and her small, involuntary shivers of pleasure are obvious. She can see it in his half smile, in the heated intensity of his eyes, and then she is lost all over again, dipped and swirled and pulled close and spun away. All in those hands. 

She feels intoxicated. She has hardly had anything to drink - rare for her on these nights in the clubs - and yet her head feels light, her whole body aflame. She feels absurdly sure that soon he will pull her too close, that they will both be caught in this mini inferno they’re creating and blaze down to ashes, but she doesn’t care. His arms are around her now, and she’s addicted. 

He pulls her close, hard against him as the trumpet ekes out the last long, vibrato crescendo. She can feel the warmth pulsating from his body and she wonders if this is it, but then his mouth brushes lightly over hers and she has never known heat like it. He is consuming her, and she realises for the first time that there’s nothing she can do about it. Every sense is him. The low rumble of his voice becomes a deep longing in the core of her belly that she can barely contain, and it feels like all the edges she’s ridden before weren’t even close to the limits of what this man can do to her. _Her beautiful Jack_. She takes his hand. 

She wants those hands to dance her all night. 


End file.
